


Rewriting History

by saraid



Series: Velvet Goldmine series [6]
Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 19:16:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3907537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saraid/pseuds/saraid





	Rewriting History

On the surface, everything seemed normal. As normal as their life could be, in this era of Reynolds-influenced society, which found a way to combine rampant commercialism, cutthroat capitalism and a level of social oppresion that hadn't been seen in a hundred years.

Meaning, they were two gay men living together openly in New York City in the late 1980s. Arthur hoped it got better. He knew it would, eventually. The tide always turned again. But sometimes it seemed to jump the banks instead. Rush up the beaches in a torrent, washing away everything that had come before.

Arthur Stuart kindof felt that this might be one of those times.

He watched his lover of six months as the other man fielded phone calls and returned messages. The office Arthur had set up in the still-half unfinished bronwstone had become Curt's. And it seemed that Curt was well on his way to becoming a star again.

As soon as he'd told his agent that he was ready to start considering coming out of his reclusive 'retirement', the phone had been ringing off the wall. Offers weren't exactly pouring in; it was more a smooth, steady flow. Manageable. Unless you were Curt Wyld, notoriously unanable to deal with pressure and celebrity the first time around.

Now Arthur watched him, and wondered when Curt would buckle. When the strain would become too much for him. When he would throw in the towel and crawl back into his hidey-hole, most likely leaving Arthur standing outside to stand guard. The lawsuit against Tommy Stone, aka Brian Slade, was being stalled by Stone's lawyers. There was some suspicion that the government had gotten involved in the stonewalling, but Arthur had no doubt they would prove victorious in the end.

They had the cops on their side, unsual but important.

The planned visit with Curt's mom had been postponed, once and then again.

Now it was scheduled to begin tomorrow morning, when they would go together and pick her up from the airport. She was planning to stay at least a couple of weeks -- longer if they got along.

Curt had talked once to his sister, Brenda, and that seemed to have gone well.

She'd been kind of apart from the madness in the household when he went through his bad times, Curt said.

Nobody talked about the older brother. Arthur was afraid to ask. He was also afraid to have the woman move in here.

Afraid that Curt really was going to lose it any day now.

What it all boiled down to, of course, was that he was afraid of losing Curt.

If Curt could keep himself together through this, then did he need Arthur anymore? If he didn't need Arthur anymore, would he want him around? If he couldn't keep it together, was Arthur going to be able to save him?

"Hey." The rough voice at his ear made Arthur jump, the book he was supposed to be reading slipping from a loose grip and to his lap. "You day-dreamin?" Warm breath caressed his neck and Arthur shivered. He would be very cold without Curt to warm him.

"No. Just - thinking." He turned in the chair and slung an arm around Curt's neck.

"Thinking too hard - I could almost see the steam risin' from your ears. A hot story?"

Arthur shook his head, unable to answer. Exposing his fears to Curt would just add more pressure.

"Hey." Curt spoke more softly, his voice gentle now as he wrapped Arthur in his arms and pulled him to his knees in the chair, holding him. "Whot's wrong?"

He wasn't usually very perceptive. Arthur was surprised he'd noticed.

"Nothing." He shook his head again. "Are you done?"

"Yeah." Curt said, but he didn't move. In fact, his arms around Arthur tightened and Arthur found himself leaning into that strength. Reminding himself that Curt *was* strong; strong enough to walk away from Brian and go off on his own, strong enough to quit heroin once and for all. Strong enough to survive an adolescence that could only be described as nightmarish.

If he needed Arthur, it was because he wanted to. Success regained didn't have to mean that changed.

"Something's bugging you." Curt kissed the top of his head and rubbed

Arthur's back. "It's been bugging you for a while."

"It's nothing." Arthur insisted. He slipped both arms around Curt's waist and hung onto him finding comfort in the closeness.

"Don't believe you." Curt sounded amused, and he hugged Arthur again.

Arthur rested his head against Curt's shoulder and suddenly felt a wash of deja-vu.

Once this man had been strong for him. Had led him trembling through the intricacies of sex, when Arthur was young and innocent.

Just for this moment, Arthur could feel that young man still inside himself. A part of him.

Not lost, then.

"I know," he answered, and he smiled. Curt bit his neck gently.

"Want to get some dinner?"

"Yes." Peeling himself off of Curt, Arthur slid out of the chair and stood. Curt came around it and captured him into an embrace again, nuzzling under his chin, his

tongue taking tiny little licks. Arthur gasped and gabbed onto him, feeling dizzy. He wanted Curt, needed him, wanted him now.

"Curt, love - let's - let's forget dinner..."

"Fine by me. I can just eat you instead." Without warning Curt slid to the floor, on his knees in front of Arthur. He steadied himself with his hands on Arthur's thighs and rubbed his cheek against the bulge of Arthur's cock.

"Please -" Arthur gasped. He wanted more, but this was a good start. There was no telling how Curt would feel tomorrow, after seeing his mother for the first time in more than twenty years.

"God, you're georgegous," Curt mumbled as he got Arthur's jeans unzipped and pulled down. He was gentle as he freed Arthur's cock from his jeans and mouthed the head.

Arthur put one hand on the back of Curt's head to hol dhim there and the other on his shoulder to steady himself. Forcing his eyes to stay open, he stared down as the blond head bent to take him in, blue eyes glinting up at him mischeiveously.

Curt hummed. Arthur moaned. He pressed Curt's head closer to his groin. There had been a time when he wouldn't have been so demanding about oral sex, but Curt had outgrown the association between it and pain that had formed when he was young. Now he went down on Arthur with the skill of a pro and the dedication of an artist. Arthur appreciated every nuance.

Curt kept him on the ropes as long as he could. By the time he let Arthur come, his lover was staggering, struggling to stay upright as the muscles in his legs threatened to dissolve. Snickering, Curt caught him with strong arms and lowered him gently to the floor. Arthur moaned and turned over laboriously. He was too spent to do much, but the offer of his ass always pleased his lover.

"So smooth," Curt whispered as he prepared him, fingers touching tenderly.

"I love you, you know. Everything about you. The way you talk, your accent makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. When you walk away from me I have to watch, every time. Even that weird tea you drink for breakfast, black and bitter, I love the way it tastes on your tongue when I kiss you goodbye as you leave for work..."

"Jesus, Curt," Arthur managed to gasp. "You could talk a man to death."

"But you'd like to go that way, wouldn't you?" Curt's voice brushed the back of Arthur's neck as he was pulled to his knees and entered, slowly and surely.

"Yesss..." Arthur hissed. "I'd let ye."

"I know you would, mate." Curt began a slow, steady rythm, a bit different that his usual 'nail him through the mattress' pace. "You'd let me do anything to you."

"Aye," Arthur agreed. He was going to come again, and so soon. God, it was good. He groaned approval, beyond words.

Curt's hands on his hips centered him. Drove him higher. He cherished the bruises those hands left in love. Such strong hands.

"Yeah..." Curt chewed on the back of his neck, making Arthur twist in slow motion. "I could eat you up cock, ass, neck, mouth Christ, your mouth, Arthur. Sometimes I think I could come just listening to you."

Feeling much the same way, Arthur struggled to shift his weight so he could get a hand beneath his stomach and at his cock. Curt reached around and brushed it aside, letting Arthur restore his balance.

"I love the way you take me," Curt groaned as he stroked. "Love the way you suck me."

" - want all of ye -" Arthur panted. "All the time." "I love *you*..." Curt was going to come, Arthur could feel the way he was swelling. Sometimes Curt went more slowly when he was close, to draw it out. Like tonight. "So fucking good to me," Curt mumbled.

Arthur pushed back against him, wanting it deeper. Wanting Curt to come way up inside him.

Curt did push in deeper, and held himself there for a moment before pulling all the way out and shoving in again. Arthur grunted as sensation lashed through him. Like fire in his nerves. When Curt did it again, he came. The world whited out and he lost touch with his hands and legs. He was an ass and a cock, that's all that existed for him.

Finally he could feel again. Feel Curt's weight on his back, mashing him into the hard wooden floor. Feel the ache in his not-so-young-anymore knees.

Feel Curt's cock, still deep inside him. Keeping him open and full.

It was worth being mashed over. Who needed to breath?

 

"How do I look?" Curt asked for the fourth time in ten minutes.

Arthur sighed and reached over to tuck a stray length of blond hair behind Curt's ear.

"As beautiful as ever." He wanted to smile at him, but was too concerned about the way he was acting.

Curt had changed clothes at least four times, and would have done it again if Arthur hadn't insisted they would be late. He didn't think Curt looked that different than usual, even with the slightly more tailored-looking jacket he was wearing over his grey slacks. Which Arthur had picked out. Grey slacks, grey shirt, and black jacket. To make his blondness more visible.

Arthur loved the rough blond beauty Curt had grown into. It wasn't the fey beauty Brian had cultivated, or the pained, stark beauty of Curt's own wild years. Instead, it was real, honest, human beauty, highlighted by the magnetism of the person living in the skin. Beside Curt, Arthur could feel invisible. And that was fine with him. He'd never really wanted the spotlight, though he'd enjoyed it with the Flaming Creatures. He would have been happy never to see it again.

Curt fidgeted. Arthur put a hand on his knee to quiet him, squeezing gently.

"The room's good," Curt seemed to be telling himself.

"Yes, love."

"The house is still kind of a mess, but that's okay."

"It is."

"I can't do this."

Curt stood suddenly, shaking off Arthur's hand. He was literally shaking.

Arthur stood quickly, reaching for him.

In the waiting area of the airport terminal, there wasn't much he could do without drawing attention to them, but he was going to comfort his lover no matter what the other people present might think.

He caught Curt's arms and slowly pulled him close. Curt resisted, then gave in with a suddeness that spoke of terror.

Arthur cradled his head in both hands as Curt pressed his face into Arthur's shoulder.

"You can't do it at all, or you can't do it here?" he asked him gently.

"Not here," it was almost a whimper. "Not where anyone can see me."

Arthur sighed. Okay, that was one problem down. At least Curt wasn't backing out entirely. He'd hate to have to explain to his mother that she had to turn around and get back on the plane.

"It's okay, love." he petted the blond hair, which was starting to fly around.

"You want to meet us at the car, or back at the house?"

Curt shuddered and clutched at Arthur's shirt-front. His distress was starting to draw stares. Arthur held him more tightly.

"Home," he stuttered out.

"Okay." As gently as he could, Arthur pried Curt off h imself, risking a press of lips to his forehead. "You catch a cab and I'll bring her home to you."

"It's not right, I shouldn't make you..." with his hands balled into fists at his sides and his body stiff, Curt looked like a little boy playing at being a grown up.

Arthur felt a perverse relief inside; this was Curt acting like Curt. At least they'd gotten to the panic *before* his mother arrived. He's been expecting it for days.

"I'm a volunteer, love." He used both hands to gently turn Curt around and point him toward the exit. "If it's better for you to see her at home, then it's better for me. I'll call you when we get to the auto, okay?" What with getting luggage and getting it out to the lot, Curt should be home by then. They'd rented a car just for this visit, so they could travel a but if they wanted to.

Curt nodded, biting his lip. Arthur let go of his him and gave him a little push. He wasn't surprised when Curt grabbed on again, a quick, hard hug.

"Love you," Curt whispered. Then he was out of the gate, and out of sight.

Arthur twisted his face into a sad smile as he settled back to wait again. He had yet to decide how *he* was going to react to this woman, who had hurt her son so badly.

It all depended on how she treated Curt now. Arthur could be nuetral.

Curt had barely disappeared when the lights on the board changed, announcing that the flight had arrived. Arthur took a chair, knowing that with the new, tight security, it might be a while before anyone actually got off the plane. He'd only seen one picture of the woman, and that about twenty-five years old. Taken when Curt was small. He'd looked happy, in the picture, in the arms of this blond woman that vaguely resembled him. The woman had looked more worried than happy, but it might have been the sun in her eyes. Even then there had been more lines on her face than her age suggested she should have.

When people started coming out of the gate and into the waiting room, he stood, with one hand in his pants pocket and the other gripping the car keys too tightly.

He believed he would recognize her, but wasn't prepared for the rush of pain that swamped him when she came into sight.

She looked so old.

And vulnerable.

She was only 61. A woman shouldn't look that old at 61. Arthur's own mum, who was closing in on 75, looked about the same age as this woman.

But even so old, she looked like Curt.

Arthur wondered, not for the first time, how a mother could claim to love her son and put him through what she’d done to Curt.

She stopped, looking around. Hesitant. Not wanting her to feel she’d been abandoned, Arthur stepped up.

"Evelynn?" They were both adults here. "I’m Arthur Stewart. Curt’s friend."

He offered his hand and she glanced at it, then stared at his face.

"Where is my son?" Not cruel, really. Perhaps frightened.

"Curt was too anxious to stay. He’ll meet us at the house."

Disbelief, then sorrow passed over her features. Arthur reached for her carry-on bag, because it looked heavy and it seemed she wasn’t going to shake his hand. She took a step back. Not quite out of reach.

"You’ll have to forgive me, but it’s a big city and you hear stories."

"No, I understand." This was unexpected. But she was right - she’d never met him or even seen a picture of him, there was no reason she should trust him. "I’ll call Curt."

Speed dial on the phone, and it rang. And rang.

"I don’t think he’s there yet," Arthur said, then heard the rining stop.

"Arthur?" Worried, out of breath. Must have run in.

"Yes, luv. I’m with your Mum. She wants to speak to you before we leave."

"I can’t."

"She’s nervous, luv. Doesn’t know me from Adam. You can say hello on the phone."

"Arthur..."

"You can do this." Without waiting for more objections, Arthur handed the phone to Evelyn. It was too bad she’d had to hear that, but, he reflected, she’d earned this. Caused the problem. No matter the reasons or rational. The harm she’d done to Curt had caused his emotional problems. His pain.

Arthur didn’t even pretend he wasn’t listening. He wished he could hear more than her side of the conversation.

"Curt?"

"You sound the same."

They’d talked on the phone twice a week for the past month; Arthur didn’t know

why she’d think he’d sound any different.

"He’s wearing a tan jacket and a white shirt, with a blue-striped tie."

It was the first time Arthur had worn a tie in years. Curt had insisted it was a sign of respect. Now Arthur wanted to take it off.

"Alright, son. I’ll see you soon. Goodbye."

She handed the phone back. Arthur listened for a second, then realized that Curt had hung up. He put the phone away and reached for Evelyn’s bag again.

"Let me get that. It looks heavy."

This time she let hm take it. he put it over his hsoulder and could almost see the relief on her face.

"You have other bags?"

"Two."

"They should be down soon. D’ya want to sit while I get them?"

She shook her head. Before Arthur could point out the baggage claim she’d already started that way. Feeling like a servant, Arthur followed.

 

By the time they got off the trolley in the parking lot, he was irritated.

"The auto is this way." he pointed. Fortunately it wasn’t that far.

"You talk funny." She walked beside him and he thought he should offer her his arm, but didn’t think she would accept the help.

"I’m from England."

"London, right? Like the Beatles."

Well, no, but he wasn’t going to quibble over the details.

"I grew up in Birmingham. It’s outside of London. Me mum’s still there."

"And you work for a newspaper."

They were at the car. He fished the keys out and pushed a buton on the remote. The trunk popped open and the doors unlocked. With the bags on the ground he opened her door and helped her in.

"It’s going to take an hour to reach the house," he talked while putting the bags in the trunk. The carry-on he set on the back seat where she could reach it. "Do you need anything before we get there? Curt has dinner planned, but I thought you might want something small first."

"Just take me to my son."

He got in. Shut the door. Nodded.

"Yes, ma’am."

 

The traffic seemed heavier than usual, but that might have only been Arthur’s impression. Driving on the right side of the road felt wrong on th ebest days. With the atmosphere in the auto so tense, he was most likely reacting to it, and not the reality of the road congestion.

He talked a little bit. Pointed out landmarks he thought Evelynn might be interested in. She looked where he pointed, but didn’t answer. Arthur thought of things Curt had planned, places he wanted to take his mother, and hope she could at least pretend interest, for Curt’s sake. He wouldn’t be holding his breath.

"How much longer?" she asked, after nearly an hour. Arthur edged the nose of the auto into the next lane so he could get over and make the turn. He wasn’t an agressive driver and hated doing it.

"Fifteen minutes." he had to do something. He hated, but he was going to do it.

When they were safely in the turn lane, he took a deep breath and looked over at her.

Her mouth was set in a tight line. Childhood experience told him it was an expression of anger and not hurt.

The light changed, he made the turn, and pulled into the first parking spot he saw.

Evelynn sat still, looking at the houses on the street.

"I don’t see any numbers," she said finally. "Which one is it?"

"This is the wrong street," he said carefully. "I wanted to give us a moment ot talk."

Now he could see she was very angry. Her anger was different from Curt’s, because there was no love behind it. He made himself go on.

"If you’re going to be angry, if you are going to come into our house with that anger, then I will not take you there. He doesn’t need that. I don’t need that. I can turn around and take you back to the airport and everything will stay the way it is."

She turned and he saw, again, how old she looked. He felt petty and mean. But things had to be said. Curt’s balance was too fragile for Arthur to let this woman hurt him again. Even with his help, he feared Curt wouldn’t recover.

Arthur couldn’t bear to lose him.

"You have no right," she said flatly. Arthur silently disagreed, but let her have her say. "No right to judge me, to keep me from my son. I don’t need your permission to see him."

"You’ll need it for everything. Curt is....fragile. If you upset him, after he’s tried so hard to be okay with this visit, you’ll destroy him. The same way you did when he was young."

"You don’t know what hapened then. You don’t know what he was *doing*!"

"I do." Arthur reached over and closed his hand around her wrist. Making contact might make the words easier. Make the memory bearable. Curt had told him everything, a drunken night not so long ago. Every painful, sordid detail. Arthur had held him while he cried, and cried himself.

"I know everything," he told this woman now. "I know exactly how badly you hurt him."

"It -" she clamped her mouth shut and shook his hand from her arm. Take me to my son."

"Tell me you won’t hurt him." Arthur faced the steering wheel as she turned away, to look out the window. "Tell me you can tell him you love him and mean it."

"Take me to my son."

"Tell me."

She was still angry, but now he could see fear in her. The way she sat, the tone of her voice.

He waited. Patience was a virtue he’d learned to cultivate around Curt.

"I didn’t come here to hurt him," she said at last. "I want to see him. not hurt him."

Arthur waited again, to see if she would say anything else. Silence filled that auto. It was so strong, it seemed to drown out the traffic sounds outside.

When he understood that she was finished talking, he had to decide if that was good enough. After a moment’s reflection he decided it would do. It wasn’t the big declaration he’d been hoping for, but it was enough. Just.

Starting the engine, he pulled back into traffic.

"We’ll be home in ten minutes."

 

 

"Curt?" opening the front door, annoyed becase Curt had forgotten to lock it again, Arthur ushered Evelyn in. She stood and stared a the floor, the walls. They'd really gone all-out on the foyer. Gold-embossed linen-colored wallpaper, the ceiling carefully faux-finished tolook like it had been plastered and carved, and of course Curt's tile work on the floor, now framed with carved baseboards that were actually crown molding turned upside-down for installation.

"Curt love?" Arthur gave her a minute to look and then went to the living room, also finished now, though much more infromally. It was very butch, with the striped walls and heavy dark carpet and leather furniture.

Arthur loved it, but it was really Curt's room.

He set the bags on the floor just inside the room and paused. Better to let Curt come to them than the other way around. He wanted to go looking for him, make sure he was okay - not high or drunk or hiding, but Evelyn was sure to follow. If Curt had tipped off the wagon, Arthur didn't want her to see it.

"He's probably upstairs. Can I get you something to drink?" he motioned to the kitchen.

Now that she was here, she seemed to hesitate. Instead of insisting on seeing Curt right away, like he feared, she nodded and followed him into the shiny expanse of steel appliances and black countertops.

He pulled out a chair at the small breakfast table and she sat.

"I'll make some tea."

He turned his back on her, listening to the floors above him. If Curt was up there, he was being very quiet. Arthur's apprehension grew.

"Is this your house?"

He started, the words were unexpected and he hadn't been paying attention.

"Me 'ouse? No, luv," his accent slipped, worried and nervous. "This is all Curt's. I have a cottage in England that I bought for me mum, though. When me Da died. She wanted to move back to her folk."

"This is Curt's house?"

She stared around her some more.

"I suppose I never thought he would be rich."

"Curt's a brillaint musician, Evelynn," Arthur put the tea set on the table and went to pour. "Biscuits?"

She looked at him, and he was moved by the sadnes s in her face.

She knew she had fucked up.

All that was left was to see if she could fix any of it.

"Cookies," Arthur explained. "Curt gets them from this bakery down the street -- I think he's addicted."

There were no cookies in the cabinet he opened. Arthur pursed his lips, perplexed.

"Arthur?!" Curt's animated shout made them both turn to look at the door. Arthur closed the cabinet.

"In here!" he called back. Relief flooded him. If Curt went out, went to the store or for a walk, then things weren't too bad. If he could face the world, he must have a handle on it.

He almost bounced into the room and Arthur winced to see him so wound up.

"Sorry, luv - we were out of those biscuits you like and a couple other things, thought I'd run down to the bakery and back 'fore you got here, but the line was so fucking long -"

He stopped. It was like a switch being thrown.

Slowly, Evelynn put down her teacup and rose from her chair.

"Hello, Curt."

Arthur reached the catch the canvas bag Curt was on the verge of dropping.

"Curt," he said softly, sliding his hand to the back of Curt's neck as he put the bag down.

"Arthur..."

Seeing the incipient panic, Arthur slid an arm around Curt's waist and drew him close.

Curt could greet his mother from the safety of these arms.

"Looks who's here, luv," Arthur said. He didn't want to be too gentle, or even too sweet, in front of this woman, who was watching them with eyes that seemed to want to swallow Curt whole. But he had to help here. Had to steer the conversation, and guide his lover to safety.

"Yeah," Curt shivered slightly. "Hi...Mom." he stumbled over the word, though he'd been saying it on the phone for weeks.

"You look well. Could use a haircut," she offered. He'd sent her pictures, so his appearance shouldn’t be a surprise.

Curt's hand went to his head and he self-consiously smoothed down a few errant strands.

"I like this look on you," Arthur shot her an angry glance, then touched Curt's face withh is fingers. "Windblown. Why don't we sit in the lving room and have a cuppa?"

Without looking at Evelynn, he turned Curt around and led him to the other room. His mother didn't follow right away, so Arthur took the time to hold him and press Curt's face to his own shoulder until the shivers died down.

"Shhh, luv..."

Evelyn came out of the kitchen. She'd found a tray and put the things on them, including a plate with some of the cookies.

Arthur shook his head and she passed them to go sit in a big wingchair. She took a cookie and looked around.

"This is a nice house. Really big."

"I, I, I’ll show you around.." Curt didn’t look at her, kept tight to his lover.

"There’s no hurry. I’m going to be here at least a week."

The shudder that ran through him had to be obvious, even to her. Arthur dug his fingers deeper into the shaggy hair, pressing on sensitive scalp, trying to ground him with the slight pain, the way he knew worked. Curt hissed and his hands clenched harder on Arthur’s waist.

They stood still but strained against each other, the points of contact harsh and necessary. Finally Curt expelled the breath he’d been holding and relaxed into Arthur’s arms. He sagged and was held loosely. Arthur opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed.

Evelynn was looking anywhere but at them. Studying her, he thought he saw the glint of tears in her eyes. He wouldn’t ask about it until he knew if they were triggered by sorrow or disgust.

If she was going to be here, she would have to get used to seeing them be physical. Be affectionate. Curt needed it and Arthur wasn’t going to censor himself on her behalf.

Either she accepted her son as he was, or.... well, he didn’t want Curt to go back to not having a mum. That hadn’t made him happy either.

He felt his lover move and stayed where he was, his arms dropped to Curt’s shoulders, hands clasped on his chest as he turned to face Evelynn.

"I could use a cuppa," Curt said shakily. Arthur could hear the threat of tears in his voice and was proud that he held them in. Crying in front of her would have destroyed the facade he needed to maintain to get through this.

"Let me," Evelynn said, and she sounded unsure as well. Arthur looked but her hands didn’t shake as she poured. "I’m so used to coffee all the time, but this is nice, too."

"All those years in Europe," Curt shrugged and reached out a hand. She had to stretch to hand it to him, not in a saucer. When he took it Arthur dropped his head to Curt’s shoulder, brushing a kiss over the back of his neck as he did so.

Curt sipped. Arthur could feel the tremble still running barely through him.

"I used to brag about that, you know. Not to anyone we knew. But to strangers. In the store, in line, people would talk about thier kids and I’d say you were in England, in Germany, making records."

She hardly looked at him while she talked. Arthur cupped his hand around Curt’s in case he felt the need to drop his teacup, but he held steady.

"Not to anyone you knew, huh?" he sounded sad and resigned. "They would have known the truth."

"They taunted us with it, you know. I would go out in the morning and there would be papers, with your face on them. Newspapers. Magazine stuff. Your father’s bowling team made him so mad he quit."

Curt stiffened and Arthur rubbed his cheek into his, lifting the cup and bringing it to his own lips to sip. It was soothing, as it had always been.

"Why are you telling me this?" Curt asked softly, more calmly than Arthur expected.

"I want you to know that we suffered too."

"It doesn’t compare."

The turn of the conversation made Arthur uneasy, but he held his tongue, drinking tea and holding his lover.

"We were humiliated. Your brother was attacked at school, beaten. Your sister couldn’t get a date for the prom!"

"Because of *me*?!" Curt snorted, scornful. "Haveya ever thought, *Ma*, that it had more to do with the way you lived than the way I did? I was long gone – you can’t blame everything that happened after I left on me!’

He was rigid, furious. Glad to feel it, Arthur stood straight behind him, meeting her eyes as she looked around. Not for support, she must have known he wouldn’t give it, but probably because she couldn’t bear to look at Curt.

"Ya can’t come ‘ere and lay this on me," Curt lowered his voice and took a deep breath. "Problems you had after I left aren’t my fault. I was your kid – your problems aren’t my fault."

The atmosphere was so tense Arthur feared the worst. Then Evelynn sighed and bowed her head.

"I know, I know that. I didn’t then. And it took a long time. Your sister got so mad at me sometimes, when I would say things about it being because of you."

She looked up again.

"The past is the past and I don’t want to discuss it anymore. There’s no sense dwelling on what can’t be changed."

Her abrupt shift in demeanor told Arthur that she wans’t going to admit anything else, at least not now. He moved away from Curt and took a biscuit, licking sugar off the top.

"We should show you your room, and then the house. You might want to tidy up before dinner," he said. Wanting to ease the tension and maybe have a few minutes alone with his lover before they had to face the world as a group.

"Alright." She stood and walked past them to the kitchen. "I’ll just get my purse."

 

Curt shuddered for several minutes. Arthur held him tightly,whispering soothingly, the same things he always said. When Curt pulled away at last, actually pulled away and turned his back on Arthur, he wsn’t sure this was a good thing.

They were safe in thier bedroom. Safe for the moment. Evelynn was freshening up in her room, the newly-finished guest room on the second floor, which put Arthur’s office safely between them and her.

"Luv?"

"I’m fine, Arthur." Curt hugged himself with both arms. "Just – delayed reaction."

"To her being here? Or what she said?"

"I don’t know." Curt threw him a look over his shoulder, so sad – Arthur had to go to him, to push him down to the bed and wrap himself as far around his lover as he could. Curt held back just as feircely. "I never thought...you know, that it was hard for them, too."

"That doesn’t matter. They had no right to treat you the way they did. If they suffered for it, it was only karma."

"I hated them so much. Especially her. Sometimesit felt like all that hate was going to eat me and I’d never feel anything else."

"Yeah."

Curt snuggled closer, closing his eyes. Arthur stroked his hair, loving the thick blond mass. After another minute Curt took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He opened his eyes again and gave Arthur a real smile. Small, but confident.

"Can I do this anytime I need to?"

"Whenever you want, prat."

"Okay. Then I’m good."

"You want a minute alone?" he read Curt’s moods so easily now, and the nod was expected. "Alright. I’ll be downstairs." He disentangled himself and got up slowly.

Curt rolled to his stomach and stretched. Arthur couldn’t resist the urge; he ran a hand down Curt’s back, from neck to ass, and lingered there several long seconds before turning and leaving the room.

Evelynn was standing in the hallway when he came out. She looked nervous and he wondered if she’d been there listening.

"He’ll be out in a minute."

"That’s his... your, bedroom?"

Arthur nodded.

"I’d like to see it. His room was always such a mess when he was little. He would never pick it up the way I wanted him to."

"I’ve been told children are like that." Arthur motioned to the staircase. "He’ll be down in a minute."

Curt might show her the room later or might not. Arthur didn’tcare. Right now he just wanted to make it through dinner without a scene.

 

"This place looks expensive."

Arthur knew he shouldn’t be surprised that was the first thing she said about the restaurant. He understood it, too. Having grown up poor working class in London, it occasionally got to him, too. He forgot to think of Curt as a man with money. Residuals on the early records still came in, and he had a good accountant. He was well vested. The house, the pub, they were investments. Most of the time it seemed that Curt didn’t think of it either. He still dressed and ate like a man without.

"It’s nice place," Curt told her shortly. He didn’t sound angry, but Arthur slipped a hand onto his thigh under the table. if Curt needed to be supported or grounded, Arthur was there.

"Looks like the kind of place they go on those tv shows – the ‘rich and famous’ ones."

The maitre’de brought a wine list. Arthur winced when Curt ordered a double, and offered the list to Evelynn.

"Some red wine to go with dinner?" He asked. "This one is good, and the Amarone is wonderful."

"I’ll have whateve you’re having," she said, watching as Curt downed his drink in a few swallows. Arthur ordered an appetizer sampler and covered the glass with his hand when Curt would have raised it.

Thier eyes met. He saw fear, pain and building anger in Curt’s, and wondered what his lover saw in his own.

Whatever is was, Curt turned the heavy glass over and accepted a glass of wine when it was brought. Munching on Calamari, he went through the menu making comments that soon had Arthur grinning and Evelynn looking bewildered.

"I thought you’d outgrown the need to be so silly!" she commented at last.

"It’s important to keep in touch with your childhood," Curt looked directly at her for the first time since they arrived. It made her look away.

"And relive the better parts," Arthur added.

"Which parts of yours were good?" Curt asked him. They hadn’t talked much about his childhood, or even Curt’s, except as concerned his mother. Most of his was in the newspapers, after all.

Arthur leaned back a little to think about it, sipping his wine.

"When I was little, we used to go bird-watching, my Dad and me. He kept a notebook filled with all the different ones we saw. We’d take the train and go to Cornwall or summach, with our binoculars."

"Did you stop?" Curt asked. He looked typically worried, as if afraid he’d woken bad memories.

"When the mine closed and Dad lost his job he didn’t want to go anymore. Things were different after that."

"So you grew up broke, like me." Curt’s hand took Arthur’s on top of the table. Evelynn turned her eyes away from it.

"Grew up hard. Then I heard Brian for the first time, an’ it felt like I was waking up from a long dream. A bad dream."

"He was like that for me, too," Curt was whispering now. Their lives would always be joined by that man, by that name. "I was just barely sober, not at all the way I am now, and there he was. Offering me the world on a plate."

"I would have taken it," Arthur told him, trying to express with his eyes what he couldn’t with his body, not here. "I’m glad you took it."

"It wasn’t exactly the world," Curt chuckled suddenly, the tension of the minute breaking. Arthur smiled at him, loving the way he looked right this minute, with his hair loose and his eyes bright. "But it was enough for a while."

"Not really," Arthur looked over at Evelynn, who was resolutely watching the other diners. "It got you ta me, but he wasn’t right for you."

"I know that *now*," Curt looked happy. "Mom, you haven’t told me what you’ve been up to."

He kept hold of Arthur’s hand and Arthur wasn’t about to let go, even if it was clearly bothering Curt’s mother. For a minute it looked like she wasn’t going to answer, but then she looked back at Curt, at his face, and spoke rather quietly.

"The usual. I’ve been working at the hospital for a few years now, like I told you on the phone."

"In admissions, yeah. D’ya like it?" the waiter came with their salads, set them in front of everyone, freshened water glasses without saying a word.

She nodded, picking up her fork.

"They didn’t offer us anything on the plane but peanuts and soda pop."

"When did you learn to use a computer?" Curt played with his food. Arthur speared a small round tomato out of his bowl and held the fork up, grinning when Curt took it without comment. "I just got my first one a couple of years ago."

"Your sister has one, she had to take a class at that school she went to."

"What does she do?" Arthur interrupted, feeding Curt another tomato. That was one way to get vegetables into him.

"She’s a preschool teacher," Curt told him with his mouth full.

"Do you have to do that?" Evelynn asked suddenly.

"Whot?" instantly on the defensive, Curt actually flinched slightly in his chair. Arthur squeezed his hand.

"Chew with your mouth open. I thought you broke that habit when you were ten."

"Oh." Curt snapped his mouth shut, chewed and swallowed before continuing. "Sorry, Mom."

"You’re old enough to know better, is all. In a nice place like this."

"All this place cares about is the color of my green."

"You were telling me about your sister, luv." Arthur tried to get the conversation back to a comfortable norm.

"Yeah. Brenda. She’s still teaching, right, mom?"

"Yes. I think she should try to move into administration or start her own daycare."

"She sounds like she’s really happy where she is."

"With twenty-five three-year-olds every day? No one could be happy with that."

Arthur poured himself another glass of wine and topped off Evelynn’s without asking. Curt’s was still full; Arthur hoped that meant he didn’t intend to get drunk tonight.

"Some people might," he said softly. "There are days I don’t think I’d mind."

"I have enough trouble dealing with adults," Evelynn seemed to be letting them in on some secret. "I could have never worked a job like this when your father was alive. He would never have let me. I’m earning more than he ever did."

"Well, I’m proud of you," Curt said firmly, lifting his glass and nodding at her. Arthur was painfully reminded of a publicity shot of Curt and Brian, dressed in gold, sharing a glass of champagne at a press conference.

Evelynn seemed taken aback, but finally she gave a little smile and picked up her own glass.

"Thank you, Curt. That’s a very nice thing to say. Why don’t you tell me a little about what you’ve been up to. ‘Making a comeback’, isn’t that what it’s called?"

Trying to stay out of the conversation as much as he could, Arthur listened, and watched, as Curt and Evelynn tried very hard to make some connection across the years of hurt between them. By the time Curt had eaten a piece of banana cheesecake, and half of Arthur’s, it seemed like progress had been made.

"Are you tired, Mom?" Curt asked as they strolled out the door. They were a couple of streets away from Central Park. "I thought we might go for a ride, or a walk. But if you’re tired we can do it another day."

Arthur checked his watch. He thought he was being discreet,but apparently Curt noticed.

"D’ya haveta go in tomorrow, mate?"

"For a couple hours at least, yeah. That article I did on the sewer rats vs. the subway needs polishing, I’ve got to get it down to ten inches or Lou will shoot me."

"Would he fire you first?" Evelynn asked and Arthur blinked at her, startled.

"Possibly," Curt said, taking Arthur’s hand and starting to walk toward the park. "But if he didn’t I’d have more insurance to collect."

"Oi," Arthur protested mildly.

"It’s not like I love ya for your money," Curt leaned over and kissed his cheek. His lips were cold and Arthur shivered, then wrapped an arm around his waist to pull him close.

"Good thing, too. I don’t think I’ll be making that much." he looked over at Evelynn, walking beside Curt. "Are you warm enough?" her coat looked old to him, like it might not be up to another winter. Perhaps he and Curt could buy her a new one.

"I’m fine. I’m used to the cold."

"You look cold," Curt said, noticing now that Arthur had commented on it. There was a sheen of ice on the streets, a light drizzle starting. "We can go home if you like. It *is* getting late."

"For everyone but you," Arthur sighed.

"That’s another thing I thought you’d outgrow, this staying up all night business. Adults don’t do that if they don’t have to."

"I’ve done it for too many years to stop now," Curt asnwered. Arthur could feel the tenseness in his body. "I sleep better, now. Because I have him with me."

Again, Evelynn didn’t respond to a comment on their relationship. Arthur decided that was better than starting a fight about it.

"We’ve got no plans for tomorrow other than that couple hours of work, right?" he asked carefully, steering Curt to the corner so they could grab a cab.

"Nah, none. Well, I should probably stop in the pub and make sure it hasn’t burned down..."

"I want to go shopping. Lou’s been making noises about the condition of my suits."

"You wear a suit?" Evelynn sounded surprised.

"I like ta look professional."

"He looks hot, too."

"Curt..."

"Well, you do."

"I don’t think your mother needs to hear that."

"Let her see ya tomorrow, she can decide for herself."

Flagging a cab, Arthur opened the door for Evelynn and then held it for Curt. After he was in his lover scooted close and pressed his body hard to Arthur’s, which just proved he wasn’t nearly as calm as he seemed to be.

The ride back was quiet. Curt tried a couple of times to get his mother to help him decide what to do the next day, but she seemed suddenly tired and put him off.

"Can I call your sister?" she asked when they were home.

"Yes, of course. There’s no phone in that bedroom yet, but you can use the one in the living room or the kitchen."

"Not much of the house finished, is there?"

Curt bristled and Arthur laid a warning hand on his back.

"We’re getting it done a bit at a time. Curt did all the tilework in the foyer, by himself."

"He was always artistic," she gave him another of those look Arthur couldn’t decipher.

"I’m gonna have a bath," Curt announced. "Arthur, mate, will you lock up for me?"

"Yes, of course." he waited for Evelynn to go into the kitchen, where she seemed more comfortable, and called after him. "Do you want me to join you?"

"When you’re ready, yeah." Curt called down the stairs.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur went to the living room and picked up his laptop from the coffee table where he’d left it. He checked his email, laughing at a joke Stephanie had sent, and then Evelynn was there, standing over him.

"You haven’t gone to bed yet?"

"I wait for Curt. He doesn’t go to sleep if I’m not there."

She sat in the armchair and Arthur had to stifle a grin. If she knew what they usually used it for!

"You think I’m a horrible mother," she said, sounding defensive and angry.

"Not exactly." Closing the laptop, he set it back down and faced her. "I think you could have done a lot of things a lot differently."

"I did what I had to."

"And what good did it do him? It didn’t change who he is, not the way you wanted it to. It just made him crazy." he didn’t want to have this conversation. He wanted to go upstairs and join Curt in the tub, where he could hold him and touch him and taste him and remind him that he was valuable and loved.

"I know," her sigh was painful. "I’m not a very nice person and I know that too. But I want to try, A-Arthur," she stumbled over his name. "I thought you were one of those boys you hear about, the ones that latch onto wealthy gay men and use them."

"I’m not," he tried to explain, but she kept talking. He was too polite to simply talk over her.

"But it seems like you love him, and it seems like he loves you. I don’t know much about his life except for what was in the newspapers and on the TV, but it seemed like he loved that Brian too."

"He worshipped Brian," it was hard to say, because it still hurt some. "But Brian only cared about Brian."

"So he hurt him too."

"Almost as much as you did." he wanted to say, ‘I’m the only person in his life that’s never hurt him’, but it wasn’t exactly the truth. Close, but not perfect.

"But you love him."

"I fell in love with him the first time I met him." He felt willing to share this with her, now. Because she seemed to be trying. Because she wanted to try.

Faint music drifted down from upstairs.

"I was seventeen. He was – he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. He still is."

"I can’t think of a man as beautiful, especially one of my sons." her shifting seemed to indicate she was uncomfortable, but he didn’t let her off the hook.

"A million people think of him that way. That many or more. I feel so fortunate that he loves me. You should feel the same way."

She glanced at the stairs and then at him again. her hands smoothed the wrinkles in her skirt.

"What can I do? How do I make him happy?"

"You’re making a good start. Just listen to him. Let him give you things. He likes to buy things for people. It’s because he never learned to say he loved someone very well, so he buys things."

"I don’t need him to buy things for me."

"But let him. Go places with him and *listen*. You probably think he talks all the time, but he can go entire days without saying anything. Let him talk about the pub, the TV stuff, the music. If he can talk to you and you don’t say critical things he’ll start to trust you."

"You talk about him like he’s a puppy that’s been kicked too many times."

Curt’s voice floated down the stairs, faint and thick; "Arthur? Are you coming up?"

Arthur stood and held a hand to Evelynn.

"That’s exactly what he is, luv. He’s a baby and he was broken. He’s managed to put himself back together mostly, but he’ll always be broken. There’s nothing you or I or anyone can do about that."

"Other people get over things like that," she argued faintly as she stood. They walked through the room, Arthur turning off lights and stopping by the stairs to set the alram.

"He’s not other people. He’s Curt Wild, and electric guitars make him crazy."

It was a strange thing to say and he saw it in her eyes. But maybe she understood it, because she nodded.

"Do the two of you sleep late? I could make breakfast."

"I’ll be out before he gets up, if he gets to sleep tonight at all. He doesn’t do well with change."

"Then why did he invite me? If me being here upsets him so badly, why did he want me to come?" she seemed honestly confused, but Arthur wasn’t going to help her with that one.

"You’ll have to ask him."

She stared but he didn’t say anything else.

"Good night, then," she sighed and started up the stairs.

"Goodnight, Evelynn."

He waited until she was halfway up, then made the rounds, turning off all the downstairs lights, putting the last load of laundry into the dryer; it was sheets and wouldn’t need ironing even if they came out wrinkled. His mum would have scolded.

Then he went upstairs, finding Curt in the deep tub. They’d finally gotten a floor in, variegated dark green tile that stretched across the large room like a blanket of moss.

Arthur walked across it, dropping his clothes as he went, so that he was naked by the time he reached the tub. Curt watched with darkening eyes and reached for him as soon as he stepped in.

"...want you..." he whispered as he took Arthur by the shoulders and turned him around to face the edge.

"Yes," Arthur moaned, his body shivering with anticipation. It was only a few minutes of preparation,t hen Curt was inside him, leaning over him, his hands on either side of Arthur’s head on the side of the tub. Water slopped up over the edge and ran back in because they’d designed it that way.

With his face turned to one side, resting on an arm while the other hand was between his legs working his cock, all Arthur could feel was heat; of the water, of the man over him, of the cock inside him. Pressure built like a furnace. Curt choked half-words into his ear and kissed his neck as he rode him, eacn thrust seeming deeper than the last.

Letting himself moan, unwilling to hold anything back from his lover, Arthur reached the peak and came, shaking, while Curt waited for him to be done. A last kiss to his neck, then the weight on his back was gone and there were hands on his hips, holding tight enough to bruise.

Curt pounded his way home, Arthur along for the ride, encouraging every grunt and thrust.

"Yes, luv, yes, like that, all the way, so good..."

"Arthur!" Curt’s shout was cut short and he collapsed on top of Arthur as he filled him.

"Right here, luv." Rolling over, feeling the loss of Curt’s cock with melancholy, Arthur sank down into the water, cuddling Curt to his chest. "Always here."

Long minutes passed as their breathing evened out slowly. Finally Curt twisted his head around and kissed Arthur’s chest.

"God, what did I ever do without you?"

"Not so well, eh?" feeling tears in his eyes and not understanding why, Arthur tightened his grip until Curt noticed and squeezed back, turning to straddle him. They were wrapped so tightly around each other Arthur doubted they’d ever be able to let go.

"Hey, babe, it’s okay," Curt framed his face with both hands, holding hard. "I’m okay."

"Really?" the tears burned and he took a breath that didn’t quite come. "Curt."

"I promise."

"Okay." He wasn’t going to argue about it. There were always consequences with Curt. Nothing could happen without some reaction from his volatile lover.

"Arthur, I love you."

"I love ye too." He swallowed hard. They seemed to be exchanging these heartfelt sentiments ever more often. He worried that it meant something was wrong. Maybe they didn’t trust each other enough.

"I *love* you." Curt seemed to be trying to convince him somehow.

"I know," Arthur said, understanding what he needed to hear. "I believe you, luv."

"Okay." Settling down, still holding on tight, Curt lay his head on Arthur’s shoulder. "What a fucking day, man."

Startled by the sudden change of mood, Arthur laughed out loud. Curt laughed with him and for once there wasn’t an edge of pain to it.

"I’m exhausted," he shared almost cheerfully. His body was still humming with the hard fucking he’d recieved.

"Oh, me, too. D’ya think we could sleep in here?"

"Not without freezing to death - the water heater’s just not that big."

"We’d better get another one."

"We should," Arthur agreed. He knew from experience that they wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. The water was still soothing, warm and lifting. Curt was a welcome weight.

He had no desire to go anywhere, frankly.

"So, tomorrow, we’ll go shopping and get you a new suit and get us a new water heater," Curt was talking slowly, his hands rubbing idly up and down Arthur’s back.

"And get your mum a new coat. Her’s isn’t warm enough."

"Good idea, and anything else she might need while she’s here. Then we can take a walk in the park and have hot dogs for lunch..."

The day could have gone much worse, Arthur thought as he lay there, holding his lover and listening to him. All things considered, it had been a remarkable success.

Even if it had been a complete failure he would have most likely ended it this way. Holding Curt.

He could happily spend the rest of his life this way.

Holding Curt.


End file.
